


Ways of This Wayward

by Rubynye



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bisexuality, F/M, M/M, Multi, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 21:30:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1663112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky gets some medicine for Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways of This Wayward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [azephirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/azephirin/gifts).



> Title from "[Love for Sale](http://www.lyricstime.com/cole-porter-love-for-sale-lyrics.html)" by Cole Porter

Bucky's been worse places in his life. Of course, he's also been in better, without broken pavement jutting into his knees, a November wind whistling across his hunched shoulders, the back-alley stink overlapping thick sour musk in his nose. He's had a dick in his mouth a time or few, not all of the hands tangling in his hair have been gentle, but most of those guys he'd chosen 'cause he liked them, one he keeps going back to again and again for love.

He has to admit, though, if only in his heart, that this isn't the first time he's shoved his nose into an anonymous thatch of pubes, not the first set of nameless hips he's gripped as he's swallowed around a hard cock for the sake of the money in the wallet under his fingers, not the first asshole he's let pull on his hair and groan, "Oh, you little cocksucker, yeah, suck it hard, c'mon, c'mon," as he works to earn some desperately needed extra cash. This jerk's not even the first tonight and he probably won't be the last, Bucky thinks ruefully as he tightens lips and tongue and throat, giving a way better blow job than any of them deserved.

At least that move pulls the bastard over the edge, grunting as he tries to fuck Bucky's face, but Bucky holds his hips as still as he can and swallows each thick spurt on his own terms. The last one hits his throat a little wrong, he coughs around the dickhead in his throat and wrings a happy-sounding groan out of the dickhead leaning over him, his scalp burning under the big hands clenched in his hair. It's an airless couple of moments while the guy huffs through his aftershocks, holding Bucky's face crammed into his scratchy crotch until Bucky lets go his hips and pries those hands out of his hair.

"Wow," the guy sighs at last as Bucky pulls off, then grabs Bucky's jacket collar with both hands and hauls upwards, making him scramble to his feet as he tries to catch his breath. "Wow, here." Tugging his pants closed one-handed, the guy digs his wallet out without any prompting, as Bucky straightens his clothes for something to do besides waiting to be paid and doesn't let himself wish he could deck the guy for holding out. "Damn." He presses the cash into Bucky's hand, hanging on when he tries to pull away, and Bucky looks up into a wide dazed grin as the guy pats his cheek before he can duck. "What's your name, Pillow-lips?"

Bucky yanks his hand free, steps back and jams his hands into his pockets, curling his fist around the money. "More than you can afford."

The guy steps forward, loose-jointed and eager. "But what if I wanna see you again? You've got a hot mouth there."

Bucky keeps backing up. "Lots of alleys in Manhattan, maybe we'll run into each other again sometime," he calls, and the guy finally stops chasing after him, finally stops grinning. Bucky spins on his heel and walks off fast as he can without running, though his knees still ache from the pavement, though the back of his throat still tickles awfully. He turns a corner and lets himself cough, horks up a scratchy hair and feels a sudden rolling wave of nausea. _Pull it together, Barnes,_ he tells himself and keeps on walking.

He goes past the bar where he found this trick, spilling noise into the street, and he could go back in, prop his grin back up and find one more, but… he ruffles his fingers through the cash in his pocket, finds a two-dollar tip, and bites his lip against doubling back to punch the last guy in the jaw. He knows who he's really angry at, after all.

So Bucky heads onwards through the chilly night air, his ill-fitting skin itching inside. Six blocks down he stops into another bar and spends a whole dollar on a Piels, slipping away before the barkeep can notice the massive tip, slamming it back like water to wash his throat clean. He almost wastes it for a moment, his belly roiling till he thinks he might puke, but then it quiets and he can keep walking, towards the subway and home.

The train's midnight empty, its rumble soothing his stomach, and Bucky leans back, swings a leg up on the bench and lets his eyelids droop. It's a ways home and he won't let himself sleep, but he can catch his breath. A little pulse of worry beats inside him, but he can't speed up the train, and maybe… he needs a little time to pull his face straight. A trip to the corner store's not supposed to have taken nearly as long as earning the cash did, after all, so he rests his head against the railing, settles into the train's vibrations, and lets it carry him.

When he boards the second train he finds a milk-skinned blonde huddled up in a too-big greatcoat, a nurse's hat perched askew on her pale curls, and nothing says Bucky hasn't earned a treat, except maybe his conscience. Ignoring it like usual, he pulls a cheerful wide-eyed face as he sits beside her, carefully not touching but not too far away; she keeps her head ducked but her smoky blue eyes flick in his direction, her lips quirk in a smile even though she quickly quashes it.

So they don't talk, but it's nice to sit beside a pretty dame, trading the occasional flirty glance; it's sweet how she evidently thinks he's a nice young man, and something about her seems dimly familiar. Even so, Bucky keeps his hands in his pockets, both to seem harmless and because even a girl can be a pickpocket. When the blonde stands to go he gets to admire the curve of her slender waist, and she half-turns to give him a bright momentary smile. He tosses up a hand, waving goodbye, and thinks he sees pink tinge her cheeks as the train doors close. Heartened, he leans back against the smooth window, idly thinking her over; when he realizes who she reminded him of, Bucky shakes his head at himself, smiling as he steps out and crosses over to the last platform.

He's been waiting a little while before some shift at the edge of his vision makes him glance around to find a big bald guy giving him the eye. A sharp prickle spikes between his shoulder blades, something hot and thick crawling up his throat, and all he wants is to be off the chilly street, back at home, warm in bed. Bucky narrows his eyes uninvitingly and the guy just widens his smile into a snaggletoothed grin.

Options. Bucky doesn't have time for a fight, and the guy really doesn't deserve a punch just for a little honest appreciation; besides, he gives himself maybe even odds at best. He could square his shoulders and act insulted, but, really, he's too tired to lie. So he plants his feet and sighs, "Shop's closed for the night."

Thank whatever saint watches over wantons, but the big guy shrugs instead of pushing the point, shuffling off down the platform. Bucky lets go a long breath, but keeps his feet planted until the train arrives, just in case, and gets in a different car. Just in case.

The nearest all-night drugstore is two stops up from home, and the wind's picked up. Bucky hunches his shoulders against its push through his hair, under his collar, into all his cracks. Despite the wind and the night, the neighborhood's still awake, people brushing past, movements and moans in the alleys. He smiles to himself; it's fun living here, but the all-night beat is exactly why he went all the way across town to where no one knows him.

In the drugstore Bucky picks up two lemon lozenges and firmly orders, "Cough syrup with codeine, please."

The clerk, apple-cheeked and stuffy-looking, gives him a dubious gray fisheye. "Prescription, please?"

"C'mon, who has time for that?" Bucky leans in a little, smiling softly. "Please. It's for my brother, a cold's gotten to his chest." He licks his lips, and the clerk's gaze flicks down a second, eyes widening. "Help a guy out?"

"I…uh…" the clerk stammers. Bucky licks his lips again, laying it on kind of thick, but when he widens his smile the clerk's blooms too. "For your sick brother? You swear?"

Bucky lays his hand on his chest. "Cross my heart, hope to die." He spreads his fingers a little, suggesting a stroke, and the clerk blinks and nods.

"Lemme see what I can do." The clerk heads for the back room, and Bucky bites his bottom lip against a laugh. He can't mess this up yet, not until… here he comes, holding out the precious bottle. "You better not go get hopped up on this," the clerk warns sternly as he hands it over, and now Bucky can let himself laugh, keeping it cheerful.

Just for fun, he presses the money into the clerk's hand, watching those gray eyes go round as he trails his longest finger down the clerk's palm. "I promise," he says, all sincerity, "thank you, man," and saunters out, leaving the clerk and his hopefully raging stiffie behind.

Once outside Bucky pops a lozenge in his mouth as he switches to long loping strides, heading home as fast as he can, the urgent beat inside him driving him onwards. He's been gone much too long, and it would be just his luck for someone to try and roll him now. Fortunately, though, no one bothers him the whole way, nothing accosting him but the prying wind, and though his teeth set on edge and his skin tightens with cold he makes it home safely with the precious bottle in his pocket.

The pounding inside him swells as he takes the stairs two at a time, hauling himself faster by the bannisters, running now. He's been gone for hours and _what if, what if_ drives him through the door, barely pausing to lock it, past the front room into the bedroom.

Steve's hidden by all their blankets, just an edge of his favorite quilt poking out of the pile, and Bucky stops, unable to breathe, until he hears a welcome, painful wheeze. Fishing the bottle out of his pocket, he kneels beside the bed, still in shoes and jacket, and sets his hand on Steve's fever-hot cheek. "Stevie?"

Steve wheezes into a groan, groans up into a smile. "Bucky, hey." He coughs, hard enough to shake his whole frame, and Bucky pushes under the blankets to curl a bracing hand around his shoulder as Steve presses his hands to his mouth, coughing till his bones rattle, then wheezing breathlessly. "Hey," Steve huffs between gasps, insistent over Bucky's shushing. "Hey, you're cold."

"Went out to get you medicine, dumbass." Steve smiles past his hand, eyelids fluttering like they're too heavy to hold up for long, and Bucky peels his fingers away from Steve's shoulder and reaches across the narrow bed for the spoon on the nightstand. "Here, c'mon," he murmurs, helping Steve sit up, Steve's arms tacky-damp under his hands, a fine shudder running up and down his skin between more racking coughs.

"Thanks," Steve rasps, taking the spoon in shaking fingers, and Bucky pours for him, watching carefully. They can't waste a drop. Steve gulps down two spoonfuls, and Bucky does not watch the long fine line of his throat, the jerk of his Adam's-apple, the lines of pain smoothing off his forehead. He catches Steve as he slumps, settles him back down and pulls the quilt up to his chin, and Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky's wrist with another, "Bucky, thanks."

Bucky should laugh it off, say it's nothing, make a joke. His throat tightens in a knot around a scratchy tingle, as if he needs to remember how he earned it, but Steve's already breathing a little easier, and that's what matters. So he brushes damp silky strands aside and kisses Steve's forehead, lightly, lips closed, and by the time he pulls back Steve's already asleep again, mouth fallen open, breathing still harsh but regular.

Bucky kneels there a moment longer, watching Steve breathe, before he pulls himself away to wash his filthy face and strip for bed.

* + * 

He dreams of Steve, tall and stacked and strong, running like a stallion and smiling into the breeze, and wakes up to sunshine and warmth, lying on his belly with his cheek resting on a narrow ropy thigh. Long fingers comb through his hair, and the scent of freshly washed fella makes his mouth water and his morning wood twitch against the mattress. "Hey," Bucky murmurs, fluttering his eyes open, shifting onto his side to curl around Steve, who grins back down at him and drapes his legs over Bucky's side.

Steve's wearing an unbuttoned shirt, one of Bucky's to judge by how it's half falling off, and has his quilt up around his shoulders, its faded blue less bright than his eyes. He coughs a couple times, but keeps petting Bucky, and the harsh rasp is much quieter in his breathing. "Took another dose and a shower," he says by way of explanation. Bucky frowns a little, kind of wishing Steve had woken him up for a spotter rather than risking falling over, but he's really too cozy and relieved to bang his head against Steve's stubbornness right now.

So he just smiles again instead, and watches Steve smile in the morning light, as Steve's fingers in his hair soothe away every other touch. "Think you can eat?"

"Yeah," Steve murmurs absently, his eyebrows drawing together. "You got the codeine syrup, the pricy stuff," he continues, and no, Bucky's really not gonna fight with him this morning or ever, he tenses to get up but Steve sets his other hand on his cheek, palm dry and warm. "I don't -- I was feeling pretty crappy before. It's exactly what I needed. Thank you, Buck."

He's not letting himself ask, and Bucky's relieved not to have to answer, relaxing again under Steve's touch. "Anytime, Steve," he says, turning under Steve's hand to kiss the fine-skinned thigh under his cheek. "Lie down again, okay? I'll get some breakfast together."

"Now that you're not hogging the bed," Steve teases, dragging his legs down Bucky's flank as he shifts, keeping a hand in Bucky's hair the whole way. When Steve's lying flat Bucky lets himself be reeled in for a kiss; Steve slips him some tongue, makes a guttural repulsed noise, but keeps right on kissing him, so thoroughly Bucky starts laughing and has to pull away to breathe. "Ew, you taste like dirty candy," Steve grouses against his lips. That's too true, really, but Steve's already leaning in for another kiss anyway; he tastes a little of sweetened medicine and a lot closer to all better, and Bucky wraps an arm around his skinny waist, hugs him close and kisses him back, knowing there's nowhere he'd rather be.


End file.
